drifting

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 06, 2018

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Submitted: June 06, 2018

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my eyes look for you in every crowd

and i’m not sure what it all means,

the sadness and the aching;

because it’s tangible, now.

it’s different from the empty of depression,

the twisting of anxiety.

for one, i am able to cry this time,

and i do,

i cry in abundance these days,

leaking at the smallest of nothings.

you haven’t spoken to me like a person in so long that i am beginning to think i never was one to you at all,

not me

not this girl, 

no girl at all,

just the next in a long line

a distraction.

i tell you it’s fine,

that i don’t mind, 

and for a moment it is true:

for a moment i become thankful for the soil that has put me here, the farmers, and my parents, and the people working twelve hour days to make my shitty minimum wage clothes.

you did that to me, 

made me thank people i had never met,

for doing things they didn’t want to do,

so i could live a life i so rarely wanted to live.

you say you’re sorry,

and i tell you it didn’t hurt my feelings,

and for a moment it is true, 

for a moment the lonely doesn’t matter

this “cold hands, crying in public, waiting and waiting and waiting, feelings too big for my lecture hall” week is all gone,

washed away with the rain, or spat onto the concrete, or thrown in the bin with everything else you gave me.

for a moment i am everything you want from me;

needy girl who is wanting at all the right times, 

girl who never needs anything except permission, 

girl who is always available but never waiting.

girl who is, in her truest form, a girl and not constantly drifting between, 

who does not wake up different every day, 

who does not bite her nails and yell and forget. 

i am, in these moments, everything that you want, 

and then it’s gone. 

my head plays referee to my heart

and i remember who the fuck i am —

golden girl,

nervous kid with a big heart; 

a heart able to forgive even on the days where you make me feel like nothing.

i am brother and sister and son and daughter,

parent one day too, probably —

but that shouldn’t matter. 

i can belong to no one and still deserve every inch that i take up. 

big imagination, calloused hands, tenderhearted kid has always lived detached, 

in this glowing world blurred at the edges,

one where she speaks and does not apologise,

she passes her classes,

she does not think of you while planning her day,

and all that she looks for in crowds of people is opportunity.

in this world, you tell her

“know your place” 

and she holds her head higher, stands taller, and walks right past you.


© Copyright 2018 Isabelle Richardson. All rights reserved.